The Date
by whatsamatta
Summary: Were all first dates this way? No, he didn't think so. Suppose he was just lucky.
1. The Date

_**Disclaimer: So, I realized I haven't really written anything for Gerald and Phoebe, other than second hand in stories and that one chapter of Suku. This one could have gone in there with the rest, but I decided against it. Therefore I give you this with the hopes you enjoy. **_

HA

His palms were sweating – damn near leaky faucets – as he stood at the door, trying to work up the nerve to ring the bell. Sure he had always been calm cool and collected when he had asked her out, much as he had been on the previous dates he's had in the past – but this was the girl he had always wanted to date. _**Always**_. Why shouldn't he be nervous? Besides, she was probably worse off than he was, she was a girl after all. Wasn't that what they were programmed to do – freak out before every date they ever have?

Steeling his nerves and wiping his hands on the back of his jeans, Gerald Johanssen took that extra half a step separating him from the front door, his finger finally making contact with the little white knob and alerting the household to his presence. What seemed like a second later that same imposing door was opened to reveal a short black mustache, black hair with a gray streak here and there, and of course, wire-framed glasses holding back the suspicious eyes of a father. He had to swallow the lump in his throat at the look in those orbs, so different from the warmth they usually held for the young man – but that was before he knew of the intentions towards his one and only daughter and child.

"Good afternoon Mr. Heyerdahl, is Phoebe ready to go?"

Kyo Heyerdahl simply looked him over, and just when Gerald thought he was going to self combust from the gaze, his little savior as well as her mother appeared at the door. Slipping past her elder nimbly Phoebe was out and standing next to the young man in a matter of seconds, smiling at her parents with almost embarrassment. Just as she began pulling him down the walkway, a deep voice shot out almost like a hand.

"Gerald." Turning on his heels, the young Johanssen waited patiently for what he knew was coming. It always did from the fathers of daughters.

"Where are you going?" Kyo asked, much to the chagrin of his wife and daughter. Phoebe groaned while Reba slapped a hand to her forehead. They had only been over this three of four times a day since Phoebe came home on Monday, excited and squealing that Gerald had finally asked her out.

"A friend of ours is having a party – err, gathering of friends. There'll be a band, and probably some form of alcohol." Figuring honesty was the best policy, Gerald smiled to try and pacify her father, which didn't seem to work at all.

"And will you be drinking?"

"Nah, I'm the one driving, and it's not even my car – at least not yet. It's my older brother's car, and he'd kill me if I screwed up his baby." A terrified shudder worked its way down his spine at the thought of just what Jamie-O would do to him if anything was out of place on his car. A shudder that did not go unnoticed by Mr. Heyerdahl.

"Will you let Phoebe drink?"

"Well, Phoebe doesn't drink, why should she?" Gerald had to hold back a _psshf_ that threatened to come out at the thought of Phoebe getting herself drunk willingly.

"Are you going to pressure her into it?" Suddenly all attempts to keep him happy were gone, as Gerald looked Kyo Heyerdahl dead in the eye, straight faced and serious.

"Mr. Heyerdahl, I have too much respect for her to do that."

The air was silent and thick as Reba and Phoebe looked at Gerald in shock – pleasant shock but shock nonetheless – at Kyo eyed him again before nodding.

"Alright. I've trusted you before, and I trust you again. But if she comes home at five in the morning drunk and puking her guts out Gerald Johanssen so help me you _will_ be sorry." Behind him, Reba Heyerdahl smirked, knowing her daughter was in good hands and that her husband's threat, while not empty, was certainly unneeded. Phoebe squealed again and hugged her father, before grabbing the stunned young man and dragging him towards the red '88 Volkswagen Passat GT parked at the curb. Her parents watched as he opened the door for their daughter, and shut it behind her in a well-placed display of chivalry, before sliding across the hood and slipping into the driver's seat.

With an almost giddy smile of her own, Reba watched the lovebirds take off down the road before slipping her arms around Kyo's middle and nuzzling her face in his back.

"You know, Babe, they'll be gone all night. We have the house to ourselves." He could almost see her sly smile as she sensually rubbed his chest. A lusty smirk gracing his features, he slowly let her back him into the house, and swiftly shut the door.

(0o0)

Once they were out of sight of the house and her dad's magically killing intent, Gerald took a moment to appraise the young woman sitting next to him. Blue really did look good on her, he noticed, she had traded in her light blue sweater and skirt for a slightly dressier dark blue button up and dark jeans. Her hair was freed of its half bun and let loose to bounce around on its own. And as for those green owl-eyed glasses, she had them reduced to wire frames – although they were still fairly thick.

He was glad he wasn't the only one who had made an attempt to dress nicer.

His number 33 jersey was replaced with a crème- brown-maroon colored silk shirt that Jamie-O said reminded him of their parent's bedroom carpeting – which Gerald later had to admit it did look like that floralesque (was that even a word? He wasn't sure) pattern that adorn the floor. There was a loose – very loose, pretty much useless – deep purple skinny tie around his neck, and he finished the look with a dark brown, almost black leather jacket that he picked up at a thrift store. There was no doing anything with his tall hair. His dad said he looked like a throwback to the sixties, but Gerald ignored him in favor of getting the keys from his stupid older brother.

After he signed a waver agreeing that bodily harm could and would be done in the event of even a scratch or dent.

"Did you really mean what you said back there? About having respect for me?" he turned his eyes back to the road, afraid for a minute that he'd been caught staring instead of driving. Yeah, that'd go over well . . . until he realized what she'd said. With a charming grin used with intent and purpose of getting a blush, he looked at her though the corner of his eyes.

"Well, yeah. Phoebs, you're important to me, and I could never do that to you." Garnering the expected response, he felt his chest swell at the dusting of red on her cheeks as they sat back in silence for the majority of the ride – that is until he spoke again.

"Besides, Helga will be there, and if she knew what I was up to I'd be more dead than if I returned Jamie-O's car totaled." Phoebe laughed and smacked his thigh as he took a left turn and drove them into the industrial port area of Hillwood. Instead of looking confused and nervous, Gerald watched as his date smiled and bopped her head to whatever crap music his brother kept stockpiled in Alice (Worst name for a car that was obviously male if you asked Gerald). He almost felt a little disappointed at her lack of surprise, but then remembered that she had been invited by their host too, not him, and so she had to of known where this party was.

He still felt let down, though, when he smiled widened at the sight of all the cars they recognized as their friends' parked around the entrance to one of the buildings overlooking the port. The roof was ablaze with strobe lights already in the waning day, and they could feel the bass from an amplifier – however weak – on the ground floor.

Opening the door, he moved quickly in order to open her door for her, and was pleased to see that she waited for him, wanting this date to start off well as a good omen. Unfortunately, as soon as she was out of the car she paused only long enough to softly run her hand on his before b-lining straight for Helga, who was climbing out of the passenger seat of a big green and rusty bus the pair instantly recognized as Philmore.

Letting gravity shut the door, Gerald moved to join Curly, who was standing just outside the little bubble the pair made, and nodded to the tall haired man.

"Hey man, is Helga with you?" Gerald asked, watching as a small flicker of something akin to mischief spark behind the thick glasses of his friend, before he shook his head and stuffed his hands deep into his pockets.

"Negative. She needed a ride, and we're all compadres here." He laughed, and Gerald had to shake his head at the crazy boy's absurdity. Suddenly Phoebe rushed over and grabbed his hand, Helga in tow with a smirk on her lips.

"Should we go up, Gerald? Death to Strangers is playing tonight, and I can already hear them." Gerald nodded, his heart rate picking up when her hand slid more intimately into his, and didn't let go. Together, the four of them made their way up the secured but rickety stairs to the roof, the music getting louder and the bass stronger with every step.

"Death to Strangers? Isn't that Iggy's band?" Gerald had to shout as they opened the roof hatch, and found that his question answered itself. There was Iggy off to the side, moving his head to the beat he was creating on his guitar, his body moving back and forth on the stage. His girlfriend was bouncing around with her bass, wild red hair flinging around as their lead singer and other guitarist muttered numbers and check into the microphone. There were two more guys Gerald didn't know, twins or at least brothers, one on the drums and one on an old brown piano. They were just doing warm ups, but suddenly stopped and grew silent as they gathered the attention of the crowd.

A pixilated guitar, bass, drum and piano version of the Universal Theme played, and crowd cheered in excited anticipation. "_**DEATH TO STRANGERS**_!" the drummer shouted once they finished the intro, before counting off and beginning a sick compilation of the instruments. The redhead was mouthing the words as the singer's voice rang out clear, being joined every now and again by Iggy's.

"Come on Crazy, let's go get you set up with Princess." Helga shouted over the band, grabbing Curly's wrist and dragging him through the crowd. Phoebe turned to him, smiling shyly as she waited for him to make a move. That special grin he saved only for her, Gerald tightened his hold on her hand and leaned into her ear.

"Wanna dance?" he asked, and she nodded with excitement before hauling out into the middle of the crowd. Spinning wildly, she almost began mash pitting, and probably would have had his hand not been on her hips as he lost himself in the music just as much as she had.

(Oo0)

Some four hours later, the pair was sweaty and red-faced and smiling, taking a breather from all the dancing. They moved over towards the edge of the roof, sitting as the breeze from the bay cooled them off and the multicolored strobe lights attacked their backs. The band was still going strong, no signs of winding down, although there was a boom box blaring techno whenever they needed to take quick breaks.

Suddenly Phoebe leaned over rested her head on his shoulder while lifting his right arm in order to look at the wristwatch he wore. Ten to ten. Gazing up at him beneath long lashes, Gerald vaguely wondered if she realized just how sultry and coy she appeared right now.

"Wanna go back to my place? Maybe watch a movie?" he offered, and she nodded, before letting him help her to her feet. Waving to a sweating Helga who was dancing with Sid, and Arnold who standing by the drink cooler with Harold and Stinky, the two wandered down steep stairs, trying to keep themselves from falling to their deaths – her father would definitely not let him see her again if they died.

She was quiet as they reached Alice, and once again he opened the door for her. Gathering up the courage and knowing he would pay for it later, Gerald slid into the driver's seat and slipped his hand beneath him, pulling out a small CD case. Popping out the current disc, he slid in a new one, and the magical sounds of Sex Bomb-Omb flooded through the speakers. Seeming much more in her element, Phoebe's head moved more freely with this beat as he pulled out of the make-shift parking lot, taking the back roads through twists and turns, eventually leading into his small block.

The lights in his kitchen were on, but no movement could be detected, so he figured everyone had just gone to bed but were thoughtful enough to leave the lights on for him. She got out of the car as quietly as she had ridden in it, and was suddenly overcome with a feeling of timidity: this was the first time she would be alone with Gerald, the boy she had a crush on since the fourth grade. She would have no Helga security blanket to hide behind; it would be just her, and him, together . . . watching a movie.

Gerald led her into the house, offering to make them some popcorn while she searched through their movies to find anything she wanted. She nodded with a shy smile and wandered out into the living room, leaving him to exhale a sigh of relief.

The night was going well. They had gone to the party and had a good time, dancing for nearly four hours straight. Correction: dancing _**together**_. She even held his hands on multiple occasions, free will and all. Now all he needed to do was watch them movie to seal the deal – hopefully she picked something scary so she would snuggle up next to him for comfort. Then he could put an arm around her shoulders, and if he played his cards right he might even get a kiss!

"Gerald, I found a good movie. I think I need your help with the DVD player though. Why won't it work?" she called from the other room, and Gerald let this strange combination of a smirk and an eye roll cross his face. Jamie-O probably left the setting from the gaming console on, and poor little Phoebe couldn't figure out how to change them.

Swallowing another smirk he didn't want his cute date to see, he tossed a piece of popcorn in his mouth while emptying the bag into a big bowl, then made to join her. He found her by the TV stand, a slew of remotes scattered around her, a frown on her pretty face and the empty case of _Drag Me To Hell_ at her feet. This time he didn't hold back the smirk as he took one of the remotes, and flipped the input from Gaming to HDMI, and led her to the couch. So she did pick a scary movie?

Let the cuddling begin.

o-o

Jumping for what had to be the bagillionth time, Gerald scowled while trying to pretend he was really stretching, all the while checking to make sure Phoebe hadn't seen it. She hadn't. She was too busy fighting back tears of laughter as the movie progressed into the final scenes. Every now and again she would utter out "**Homicidal** _Goat_!" mixed with laughter that he would have loved on any other occasion. But this was their first date, and they were watching a scary movie, and she was supposed to be hiding in his arm for comfort, not blatantly laughing at the horrible acting and outrageously hilarious situations. Or the homicidal goat.

He watched her, rather than the screen, as she leaned forward to shove another handful of popcorn in her mouth, giggling as the heroine was disintegrated by the cool visual effect of Hell's fire. This was wrong, so very, very, very wrong. She was a girl. Girls were supposed to cower before anything scary. Horror movies were supposed to put her in the mood to cuddle, and need his protection. Why was she not doing that?

And end credits.

She laughed while leaning back into his arm, smiling that cute, charming smile she always flashed him, hugging her knees to her chest.

"Helga was right, that was a funny movie." She admitted, and Gerald almost face palmed. This was not going as planned. Looking at his watch again, she blanched at realizing it was a little after twelve.

"Great, I better get home before Father has a heart attack." Was he soft statement, and Gerald nodded while absentmindedly shutting off the TV. Deciding he'd leave the popcorn for when he got home, he gently took her hand in his and led her to the door, then out and into the car.

Once again the rid was silent, this time Phoebe blushing the whole way. She had the feeling Gerald was disappointed that she hadn't snuggled into his chest and had him hide and comfort her throughout the movie, but come on! This was 2008, not the 1950s. Besides, she had every intention of playing the part with him none the wiser, but that was before it started, and once it began she simply couldn't. It was just too funny! Seriously. Homicidal goat? Who in their right mind would be scared of that?

Feeling the car come to a halt, she shook her head only to realize they were in front of her house. All the lights were off; good. With any luck her parents trusted her and went to bed – although in reality her father probably shut off the lights to shake away her suspicion but stayed up, and her mother was up if only to make sure he didn't do anything stupid.

Turning to look at Gerald, she smiled softly at him, before leaning over to kiss him softly on the cheek. Best kiss him in the car, if her father was awake.

"I had a really nice time." She murmured against his cheek, and was shocked when he quickly turned his face and stole her lips and essentially, her first kiss. Swallowing her gasp, he tried to keep it clean, but still slipped his tongue into her mouth before pulling away.

"Next time I pick the movie." He told her, and she pecked his lips one last time.

"Next time you pay for the movie." She quipped before sliding out of the car and walking briskly up the walkway. She at least wanted to be inside the house before she squealed. Once she was in the foyer with her back to the door, she heard the car take off, and her parents come in from the living room.

"He didn't even walk you to the door." Kyo muttered under his breath as Reba grabbed his arm.

"If you wouldn't spy from the living room, maybe he will." Phoebe shot back, although there was nothing but happiness in her voice as she scurried up the stairs and into her room. Kyo looked to his wife, who smirked triumphantly before following her daughter.

"Told you she would know."

Sitting at the curb, Gerald smiled in genuine happiness as he skimmed his lips with his fingers. Well that certainly went better than he thought. She didn't even slap him when he kissed her. And he dad hadn't killed him. Maybe he would really survive this night, after all.

Never mind that fact that as he flipped a Uey in the small street, the right fender grazed a not so friendly sidewalk, leaving a blatantly obvious scratch.

Well, he survived her dad at least.

HA


	2. The Plot

_**Disclaimer: Hey! Arnold. Not mine. Sad day. Can you figure out what I'm doing with my stories? I'll be amazed if you can. Seriously.**_

HA

The bob and bounce of wild red hair was all that could be seen over the electric piano that was shoved in the corner of the living room. A notebook was propped up next to blank sheet music; the woman who owned that wild mass of hair moved from one sheet, to the next, to the keys, then back to the first in a dizzying circle. Plunking a few notes, she winced, then tried again, pleased with the eccentric key change.

At the top of a set of stairs which led to the rest of the house, a door opened. Heavy footsteps plopped down in an odd _one-two_, _one-two_, _one-two _pattern, alerting the pianist to her arriving company. She didn't bother to turn her head – the mirror hanging precariously over the piano betrayed a very wet blonde girl, pink dress saturated and clinging to her jeans, pink headband threatening suicide. Her soaking grey cons squished and squeaked on the carpet as she sauntered over to a couch, flopping down in exaggeration. Perking her head up at a peculiarly familiar smell, the redhead spun on her bench and caught the gaze of her blonde intruder.

"Is that China Gorge I smell?" she asked, not looking back at the keys she was hitting as she played _The Big Boss_, loading the high notes with as much China Funk as she could. The blonde nodded while tossing over the brave white box with the bold red writing. The girl at the piano smirked, catching the food and chopsticks with a strange sadistic cackle as she broke open the fake cardboard.

"Gerald really likes Phoebe." She said suddenly, turning to look at the blonde who had now resituated herself so she was hanging upside down off the seat of the couch and stuffing vegetable fried rice into her mouth haphazardly. Instead of choking on the rice a billion Chinese people couldn't be wrong about – like most folks would at hearing such a bold statement – the upside down girl smirked and nodded.

"Which is good, seeing as Phoebs has crushed on Tall Hair Boy since the fourth grade." She informed, keeping in mind that the red head had only joined them after their group had moved on and out of P.S. 118. Smaller fish, bigger pond as it were.

Eating the leftovers of that Combo A, the pianist watched her companion as the pair thought of their poor, lovelorn friends. Did everyone have to have this cold-feet complex that she apparently lacked? With her, there was no should I shouldn't I bipolar thoughts, no "I love you, but let me hide it lest someone find out", no fear of being ridiculed by her choice in men. For her, it was a simple and efficient _Hey Iggy, wanna go see a movie after school?_ Followed by a shrug and _Sure Lucy, why not?_ There were no over the top love confessions. No histories dating back to the age when playing with your imagination was cool, not crazy. No I love you, and yet I hate you, and yet I love you, and yet I hate you.

Although there may have been a heated kiss in the darkness of the movie theatre.

And she may have let him touch her boob. But only once.

Both girls slowly came out of their own personal thoughts together, though not because of one another. Lucy thought to her Chinese buddy, and how she had her own struggles with love and the irritation of its side effects.

"We should really help them get together." She said suddenly, glad to have gotten that wistful look off Helga's face, at least for now. It was obvious that something had happened to her friend, probably connected to another certain blonde classmate, but Lucy would grill her on the subject later.

"Well, weren't you guys planning a concert in a couple of weeks?" You guys being a reference to the band Death to Strangers, which Lucy was gleefully a part of. The red head nodded, already knowing and liking where this idea was going. Slurping up a large strip of pork from her Chow Mein, Lucy chewed thoughtfully before swallowing with a grin.

"And why not invite all the friends, Iggy's as well as mine, out for a good time?"

"It may give Hair Boy the push he needs to make a move."

"And if not, well, I have a few good friends who'll be there that'll kill for even one date with a gorgeous, smart, single girl – you and Phoebe both."

"Nah, I'd rather go stag than with a blind date, but thanks anyway Luc. Besides, you'd be amazed at how quickly things can change." That had caught her friend's attention to be sure, and Lucy watched with peculiar interest as the blonde performed a half-assed summersault off the couch, slowly righting herself on the floor.

"Oh?" Helga knew the tone in that voice, and was dead set against telling it anything.

"So how do we go about this?" she asked, and the wild red hair was willing to let her little blonde change the subject. She'd grill her later on that, too. But first things first, they needed to get Gerald to ask the question their Kent-Asian friend had been waiting for since the fourth grade.

\m/ὸ_ό\m/

A week and a half later found Helga and Lucy in the high school library, the red head guarding the Xerox copier as her blonde cohort slipped a piece of paper into the feeder, and prepared to hit the magic button.

"Helga? Lucy? What are you two doing here?" a soft voice approached from the left, and both rebels turned with wide eyes before they realized it was no teacher, but their little teacher's aide, and the real reason this concert was going to happen. Phoebe stood by one of the bookshelves, the papers she was supposed to copy for Striby clutched to her chest as if to protect her from the world. In a moment of weakness, Lucy smiled kindly at her friend – she would be thanking them soon enough should their cards be played right. Helga caught the redhead's look, and smirk as she began setting up the copier, and prayed there was enough paper in it.

"Oh, you know, just a project Luc and I are working on. If you need to make copies, I would suggest using the one in the office, we'll be here a while. Just don't let Mrs. Blackwell know it's me and Lucy working the copier – you remember last time I didn't work the copier alone . . ." And Phoebe certainly did. An unpleasant explosion that had the whole school shut down for an afternoon, much to Lauren's delight at causing mayhem in an educational prison that wasn't even her own.

"Understood. I guess I'll see you two in English, then." And with that and a small wave, the small young woman was gone, leaving the two cohorts to high five as inconspicuously as possible. Helga smirked, before slipping the sheet of paper into the feeder, and began the magical process.

One by one, a detailed punk power fist was spit out, gripping a crude sketch of a hanging stick figure. Just below was the band's name _**DEATH TO STRANGERS**_ etched in crooked handwriting; underneath that the date of the concert and vague instructions on how to get there. Only those who knew the band would be able to figure it out, but it was still fun to plaster the copies not only all over the school, but Hillwood as well.

All five hundred and fifty of them.

o..O

Yellow and red mixed together in the hallway as the pair of blue and brown eyes stared curiously at the exchange happening before them. There was Gerald, there was Phoebe, no one else was in the hall, and the air was thick with tension. They could see him scratch the back of his neck nervously, she was bouncing on her heels in anticipation. Straining their ears, they could just about hear him speak, and it seemed like every female leaned forward that much to catch his voice and –

"Hey Helga, Lucy, what're you guys doing?"

Helga groaned in frustration as Lucy slid back against the wall to better bang her head. The blonde whirled on the traitor, glaring daggers and Arnold shrank back at the sudden hostility in her eyes.

"Damn it Football Head!" her tirade was cut off by an excited squeal, and this time two blondes and a redhead spun their heads around the corner in time to see Phoebe jump into Gerald's unprepared arms, tackling him to the ground and kissing him senseless. Lucy cackled while Helga smirked, shaking her head at her best friend's over enthusiasm, and Arnold just looked at the display with partial confusion.

"I guess she said yes." Lucy muttered, then Arnold looked down at Helga and was about to ask what she was talking about when he was suddenly thrust up against one of the lockers, Helga's fists tangled in the collar of his shirt and his feet nearly off the ground.

"If you endanger a recon mission like this again Football Head, I'll be sure to give you the dog instead of the chicken." Her cryptic threat wasn't lost on her captive, or her companion. When he nodded his understanding, Helga slowly let him go, taking Lucy's arm and leading her towards the lunchroom, where Phoebe was no doubt waiting, nearly bursting with happiness and wanting to share the wonderful news.

"So what did you say to him?" Arnold managed to catch before they rounded a corner and were out of earshot.

"I just told him that you guys were having a concert, and that he should go. Then I casually mentioned that Phoebe was a big fan, but didn't have a ride since her Sube's in the shop and I don't have a car yet. We just won't tell Phoebe that." Lucy laughed at just how much she would do for her friend's happiness, even as she continually chants Romance is the work of saps.

"I knew it." She said suddenly, causing Helga to stop, just outside the door to the cafeteria.

"Knew what?"

"You, Helga G. Pataki, are a hopeless romantic. No, don't even try to deny it, I've seen the light and will never let you live this down. So from this day forward I shall forever refer to you as Baby, as a loving and doting pet name." she burst into cackles once again as Helga growled, before chasing her into the feeding ground.

"You do that, and I'll tell Gerald who _**really**_ shoved him into the girl's locker room!"

HA


	3. The Question

_**Disclaimer: Do I have to say it? It's bad enough being poor and working in retail. Anyway, I promise this is the last chapter of a technically already completed story, so I hope you just sit down, read, and enjoy it. And remember reviews are like tips – and I have to live off **_something_**.**_

HA

The standard 8.5x11 inch paper crumpled in his hand as his grip tightened. Sure, he nearly tore it in half when he ripped it from the locker in surprise, but hey, come on, he was surprised. Death to Strangers was throwing another concert? But they just had one a week and a half ago. Well, maybe that last one didn't count as an actual concert because it was a school function also known as the dreaded-now-beloved Talent Show. And even then they had an accompaniment. Therefore this showing was accepted without being seen as pushy and egomaniacal. So Death to Strangers was having another concert, great – would he be going?

Well that was a stupid question.

That drawn out thought process out of the way, Gerald could now begin Phase Two:

Who would he go with?

He could ask Connie, but she wouldn't go without Maria on her other arm, and Gerald can barely afford one date, let alone _two_. Besides, they were seniors this year, and it didn't matter if he knew the band intimately or not. Which he does.

They were just too cool for him this time around.

Nadine might say yes, but he didn't feel up to sitting through a long car ride with **The Bug Girl**, nice as she is. He knew she wouldn't bring anything intentionally, but there was no doubt in his mind he would end up bringing home fleas for Timberly's stupid cat Butterball. And Gerald really couldn't afford to fork up another pet bill. Stupid cat.

There was Rhonda, but the last time they went out they came to a mutual understanding to never do that again. At least not with romantic intentions. She was just too rich for his empty wallet, and he had a sneaky suspicion that there was someone else who held her eye. Just who it was, he didn't know.

Lila. He could ask Lila.

Decision made, Gerald readjusted the backpack on his shoulder, rounding the corner in search of Lila, who would no doubt be on her way to Choir. A spring in his step, he had just made it past the first hallway of lockers on the way to the Performing Arts room when he was stopped dead in his tracks.

There was Lila.

There was Wolfgang.

And there was the smirk/smile combo he knew all too well.

So where was he on that list again? Should he even go?

"What's shakin Tall Hair Boy?"

Jumping at the hand that clapped onto his free shoulder, Gerald spun on his heel only to come face to face with one Helga Geraldine Pataki. She flashed him her own recognizable smirk before letting her eyes flit over to the scene before them, then the paper he held in his dark hands.

"So are you going or what?" was her casual question as she grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him along the hall, opposite the direction of the petite redhead. He noticed this vaguely, but since it was Helga who led him, he let it go. Helga works in mysterious ways, after all.

"Going where?"

She stopped, if only to look at him, and the look she sent his way made him feel ten times smarter as she pulled the flier from his grasp.

"The concert, genius. Are you going to the concert?" she spoke her words slowly, articulating, and taking great care in attacking the fricatives. In the back of his mind he knew Mr. Johnson would be proud of his rising star. He thought this even as he blushed.

"Still on the fence; I'm thinking stag if I do go." He prattled good naturedly, and she smiled with a nod as they reached the doors to the gym, pausing as if to think about her next choice of words.

"You should go. Death to Strangers always guarantees a good time, as I'm sure you're well aware." He looked down with a smirk as Helga faced him dead on – she knew she was winning when an expression of remembrance crossed his features.

Oh yeah, did he remember the last time he was involved in a Death to Strangers event . . .

Meeting her eyes with his own smirk, Gerald laughed and nodded his enthusiasm.

"Alright, alright. Man, you sure know how to twist a brother's arm." Rubbing his left arm in mock pain as an emphasis while his companion's smirk morphed into the conniving smile he both respected and feared. Why did he sudden feel this was all a trap?

"I knew you'd see it my way. Besides, Phoebe needs a ride." The blonde laughed as she pushed open the doors, sauntering through the gym on her way to the locker rooms, the black sophomore hot on her heels.

"Wait, what about Phoebe?" he would only admit it to the blonde he was tailing, but Phoebe was always a soft spot for him.

"She loves Death to Strangers, never misses a show, you know that. But her Subaru is in the shop, and while I have my license I have no car; hence she has no way to get there. My sidekick needs a ride."

With that said, she shoved her way into the girls' locker room, smothering her laughter as she left him with his thoughts. His shoulders slumped only slightly, before lifting in hope.

He suddenly couldn't wait for lunch.

(o).(o)

His palms were sweaty and clammy, a testament to his nervousness as he waited by the locker the Kent-Asian and her blonde best friend shared. Heaving a sigh, he leaned against one of the metal doors, trying to reign in his anxiety in the face of Phoebe. He had always had his eye on her, since that infamous night at the Cheese Fair when they were fourth graders. He had watched her blossom from sweet wallflower into lovely daylily through their years as classmates and friends. So why had he never made a move on her?

Well that easy: fear.

Not of Phoebe, oh no, but of her fierce and deadly protector. The strong-willed girl who would do everything in her power (plus that of Ol' Betsy and the Five Avengers) to guard the girl that had, for a time, been her only friend. The sharp point of her tongue that could rip and tear a grown man to shreds, coupled with her vicious fists of fury –

Helga G. Pataki could be one scary mamacita when push came to shove.

But sometime over the years, he and his group of fourth grade cohorts had bonded together, and suddenly by the time High School hit they were all traveling together like a wacked out circus. Especially with Curly, but that was beside the point. The point being, that sometime over the years he lost the majority of the fear in Helga's Wrath morphed into something else.

His respect for Phoebe grew, in the waning shadow of terror, which became the next obstacle he had yet to overcome. He cared for Phoebe far too much to let her become one of those girls – not to say that he didn't care for Rhonda, Nadine, Lila, Connie, Maria, Katrinka, Gloria . . .

But Phoebe was special. Phoebe _is_ special. In the back of his mind the mature voice that attempts to dictate his every move was trying to help him it had always been Phoebe, as it always would be.

He was just a block head, then and now.

"I'm just asking why it is that every time someone brings up intelligent life on other planets and extraterrestrials, most people are divided on whether they would arrive to wage war on our pathetically primitive race, or warn of impending doom due to our own self-serving societies. Why can't E.T. just beam his ass down to say 'Hey, how's it going-' hang out, order some pizza and play video games with us for four hours straight?" Helga's voice came around the corner before her body did, and Gerald's head shot up in anticipation of seeing Phoebe. She followed closely behind her blonde friend, and the vibrantly-redhead Lucy, who had been laughing her agreement to the question.

When the three of them spotted him standing at the locker, two smirked and one couldn't hide her blush. By now there was no doubt in his mind that at least some of this had been a setup.

"Hey Phoebe, can I talk to you for a second?" his voice was smooth, and to his credit it only cracked once with nervousness, right at the end. Up until that point, he didn't think Helga's smirk could get either more devious, or any larger.

He was wrong.

"Of course Gerald. Helga, Lucy -"

"We'll be in the cafeteria when you're done." Was Helga's swift reply, and with that the pair disappeared around the corner.

"So, uh, I heard that Death to Strangers is having another concert this weekend." Nice segue there Gerald. And the stutter? Good, that was good.

"Yes, Lucy told me. I want to go but unfortunately my Subaru is getting a new transmission." He could see her deflate, no matter how small it was, and felt something squeeze his insides.

"You know, I'm going to go, and if you want I can give you a lift."

Her eyes lit up with her thousand watt smile, and he couldn't resist the urge to scratch the back of his neck.

"Really? Gerald that would be wonderful! Thank you." She was trying to keep her excitement in check, but her control only went to her shins. Phoebe couldn't stop herself from bouncing on her heels. With a swallow, Gerald was glad no one else was in the hallways as he prepared to say his next bit of peace.

"Yeah, no problem. And I was thinking we could do something after, like, I don't know, grab a bite to eat?" _Don't say go out, don't say go out, geez Gerald, where'd Mr. Smooth Lady Killer go?_

Away from here smart-ass.

"Are you asking me on a date?" there was a magic in her eyes as she grinned at him, and he couldn't help but grin back. His hand fell from the back of his neck.

"Well, yeah. So what do you say?"

"I want you to ask me."

Gerald looked at her, confused.

"I just did."

She shook her head, a smile still dancing across her lips.

"No you didn't, you implied it, leaving me to deduce if you were in fact asking me out or not. And then you had me ask you if you were asking me. I want to hear you say it." Her logic had his head spinning – and there was the hand at the back of the neck again.

"Are you saying yes? Because your asking me to ask you implies that you want to go out with me. In which case I wouldn't have to ask since you already said yes."

Two could play at that game, Missy.

"I won't say yes until I have a question to answer."

"So you will say yes if the question is asked, so the answer is yes either way."

"I'll say no if the question isn't asked."

"How can you say no to the implied question, but yes to the asked one? I swear, women can be so -"

"_**Gerald Martin Johanssen! Ask the damn question!**_"

"Will you go out with me?" She had barely gotten the demand out of her mouth before he was answering.

They both stood there, in the empty hallway, silent as they stared each other down. And then, her angry flush was replaced a pleased one as she smiled the prettiest smile Gerald was certain he had ever seen. She didn't answer him. Rather, she bounced two or three times before launching herself into his arms, kissing his cheeks and giggling like a mad woman. Once again to his credit, Gerald blushed only enough to darken his whole face and most of his neck by one shade.

HA


End file.
